


I Should Really Learn How To Knock

by shihadchick



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Blowjobs, Fingering, First Time, M/M, Multi, implied Spencer/Ryan/Brendon/Jon endgame, mentions of Spencer/Ryan/Brendon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-26 04:29:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3837154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shihadchick/pseuds/shihadchick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Jon just wanted to be what they wanted. It was one thing to find his feet and fall into sync with them onstage; it was another again to watch from the sidelines as they fell into each other and he was left behind, out of step and just not quite right.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Jon was sick of being the punchline to a 'one of these things is not like the others' joke.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>or: A Jon Walker's Guide to Falling In Love With Your Bandmates: the happy endings edition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Should Really Learn How To Knock

**Author's Note:**

> This was intended as the beginning of a longer fic, but then, well, 2009 happened and for obvious reasons this got shelved. This section is self-contained enough to stand alone, at least. Title misappropriated from the OC, because it seemed, well. Appropriate.
> 
> Set in the early days after Jon joined the band.

Jon's good at secrets. Jon's maybe too good at secrets, because he keeps the ones he has to, but he also keeps the other ones.

Jon won't tell the attractive blonde from Kerrang! that, actually, he doesn't have a girlfriend, but he's fucking the rest of his band on a regular basis and quite enjoying it, thanks, but Jon also won't tell Spencer that he wants to be held down. Jon won't tell Brendon how beautiful he is, on his knees in the kitchen, skidding on the linoleum until Spencer laughs and gives him a teatowel to brace himself on. Jon won't tell Ryan that he would have followed him anywhere, if only he asked.

Jon won't tell any of them how scared he is to lose this, how much it means to him and how he'd never expected this, never thought he'd be allowed in. They've always been so close, and while he hadn't known before he wound up on their bus... he'd suspected, just a little. A lot of people did; the ones who knew them well and the ones who were around on tour and the ones with a seriously prurient interest and far too great an ability of observation.

* * *

It had been a bit of a shock all the same, the first time he'd seen Brendon tumble out of Ryan's bunk, lips bitten red and flushed from hairline to his toes. And Jon was pretty sure of that spread, because Brendon hadn't been wearing much. Hadn't been wearing anything, really, because he'd overbalanced and gone sprawling.

"Subtle, Bden," Jon had said, fixing an easy smile on his mouth, projecting 'okay with this, totally okay with this, friends with Pete, not shocked at all' with all his might. "Carry on, kids," he'd called over his shoulder and then fled in the slowest possible retreat to the back lounge, and he hadn't gone back to the bunks until Spencer had slinked in and told him "it's safe to go back now," carefully laconic.

Jon hadn't been sure until then that Spencer was involved as well - he certainly hadn't been in the bunk, there wasn't room - but Spencer looked like he'd been necking with someone, and Jon knew full well Ryan and Brendon were the only other two on the bus right then.

Jon really, really missed Zack, at times like these.

And Jon had never actually asked them if he could - if they would. He hadn't been able to bring himself to ask, mostly because it seemed like a really quick way to get fired, if nothing else, and he genuinely did value their friendship enough to not want to endanger it, just because he wanted to get laid. Just because he was desperately attracted to not just Spencer - which was apparently blindingly obvious to all concerned, and not a little embarrassing to be made fun of for, publically - but to the other two as well. William made kissy-faces at him every time he saw him, which was getting old, fast.

But Jon had never actually asked. He'd just come back in to their hotel room one day, seen Ryan buck-naked on the bed, watching the door.

"Oops, sorry," Jon had said, and turned on his heel blindly, just in time to walk straight into Spencer. Spencer, who was grinning down at him, and caught his shoulders, holding him steady.

"Do you really want to leave?" Spencer says softly, "Because we don't want you to."

"In a way which is not at all creepy or peer-pressure-y," Ryan adds dryly from the bed, just starting to drift his hand down towards his dick, and fuck, yes, please.

"I," Jon says, mouth dry and words sticking in his throat. "Of course I don't want to leave."

"Well," Ryan says, with a little shrug that ripples all the way from his shoulders down to his hips, that catches Jon's eye as effectively as Dylan hooking goldfish out of the tank. "You might not have been into boys that way?"

"We had that whole discussion about how hot Adam Brody is," Jon says, feeling light-headed, moving slowly towards the bed, Spencer's hands firm on his shoulders, not so much pushing him as just keeping in contact, a motion of gestalt.

"You might not have been into guys, plural," Spencer says, from somewhere back by his ear, and Jon shivers, feeling Spencer's breath dance across his nape.

"Lucky guess, then," Jon says, scrambling to keep up, to play it even slightly cooler, to not give away that he doesn't just want this, he's desperate for this.

"Lucky for us," Spencer says, trailing his fingers down Jon's back, over his shoulder blade and coming to rest at his hip. Jon stops at the foot of the bed, tries not to stare at Ryan's hand, moving slowly over his own dick; tries to look at Ryan's face instead - and it isn't that difficult after all, not with Ryan's expression so open, his eyes wide and dark, locked on Jon, flicking occasionally over his shoulder to check in on Spencer.

Spencer gives him a little shove, and Jon goes onto hands and knees, crawling up the bed, over Ryan, his limbs slipping on the bedclothes, so that he nearly goes sprawling, comes perilously close to landing on Ryan's knee with all his weight.

He slithers up the bed until his face is level with Ryan's, until they're mere inches apart, and he can feel the heat coming from Ryan's body almost as tangible waves, like standing next to--

Jon freezes, feels a hollow open up in his stomach as the realization trickles in. "Where's Brendon?" he asks. "I know you all- where is he?"

Ryan's expression is unreadable, and Jon cranes his neck, looks back up to see if his luck is any better with Spencer. Spencer looks inscrutable, and his tone is light, gentle, and not in the slightest bit consolatory. "He wanted to wait," he says at last. "He- it's not that he doesn't trust you, Jon, or that he didn't want this. He just said," here, Spencer shrugged, "that it would be too much if Jon didn't want this."

"And he wanted me to have someone to talk to if I ran out on you guys," Jon says, after a second's thought, because he knows Brendon, and Brendon is more thoughtful than most people might guess; Brendon likes to make things easier on people, even if it's at his own expense.

"So should we call him now?" Jon says, curling his fingers around Ryan's biceps, feeling muscle flex under his grip.

Ryan arches up, rubs against him, lifts his chin for a kiss. Jon gives it to him, scarcely daring to breathe otherwise; Ryan's mouth is soft and warm and a revelation in and of itself.

"Maybe later," Ryan breathes, and Jon bites down on a tiny flicker of hurt, because they're still giving him an out, still giving him someone to feel safe with, if this didn't work out, if he panicked or if he wasn't what they were hoping. God, Jon wanted to be what they wanted. It was one thing to find his feet and fall into sync with them onstage; it was another again to watch from the sidelines as they fell into each other and he was left behind, out of step and just not quite right.

Jon is sick of being the punchline to a 'one of these things is not like the others' joke.

Jon doesn't want to change who he is, but he can see the shape in empty air, a space that he can fit into. And he wants that, even if he doesn't have the words for it.

"Ryan," he says, "please do something."

"We should make you ask," Spencer says from behind them, musing. "I bet you're pretty when you beg, Jon."

"Hey, let him find his boundaries first, Spence," Ryan says, and hooks his fingers into the waistband of Jon's jeans, tugs them downwards.

"You might wanna put some more thought into that," Jon says, "given that, you know, belt."

"Details, details," Ryan says airily, and if his hands weren't well busy unbuckling and unzipping Jon at that very moment, Jon is sure that he'd have given him a dismissive wave at the same time.

"Don't sweat the small stuff?" Spencer suggests, and Jon can hear the grin in his voice.

"Hey!" he objects, because, seriously. Seriously. He's not, like, huge or anything, but he's been in enough changing rooms and gyms in his time, he's normal at least.

"Ooh, sensitive subject?" Ryan says, but his hands are making free with said sensitive area, and Jon really can't be bothered working up to the proper level of indignation right now. Not with Ryan touching him, sure and gentle; not with Spencer still a firm presence behind them, watching coolly.

Jon can feel now that Ryan's hard too, can feel the press of his dick against his thigh, and he likes that too, wants to touch, but he's not sure he's allowed. Ryan gives Jon's dick one last light stroke, and then runs his hand further back, between Jon's legs, darting over his balls and back to cup his ass. Jon's nothing special in that area, he doesn't think, but Ryan's hands are appreciative, teasing.

"Come on," Spencer says, and it's not a censure, but Ryan reacts all the same, shifts back - his wrist brushing deliberately against Jon's shaft, fingers curling into the thick hair around the base of his dick, tugging just a bit before going back to jerking him off, a steady dry grip. Jon whines and lets his hips press down into Ryan, bending his wrist back. It can't be comfortable, but Ryan isn't complaining, and Jon isn't going to either.

"Jon, do you want to touch him?" Spencer asks, and Jon should be used to that by now, to Ryan's words coming from other peoples' mouths, and it still throws him, still reminds him of the depth of history between the two of them, the ways they can communicate without speaking, because there is no doubt in Jon's mind that that was exactly the thought Ryan was having, that he had not brought himself to verbalise, for whatever reason.

"Fuck, yes," Jon says, and shifts, holding his weight up with one arm - although he's off balance now, his lower body settling more heavily against Ryan, because he's not a big guy, but he's also not exactly a stick or whatever, and this angle is not going to work for long - and he gets his right hand on Ryan's dick, and oh. Oh, that's just nice. Ryan feels as hard as he looked; his skin is soft and flushed, blood-warm, and Jon is pretty sure he can feel the throb of the vein on the underside, pounding underneath his thumb. He drags his fingernail in a loose spiral, just to see, and Ryan hisses and arches and loses the rhythm he's using on Jon entirely. It's far more satisfying than Jon would have expected.

"Nice," Spencer says, and Jon drags his attention back from Ryan - who was, to be fair, well worth consuming the better part of it - to look back, up at Spencer. Spencer is still dressed, but barely - his jeans hang loose off his hips and his shirt has vanished at some intervening point. Jon doesn't think he's been touching himself, but he can see well enough that Spencer is hard too, that Spencer is totally getting off on watching. Partly that makes Jon's shoulder blades prickle - he spends so much time these days with people watching him, and he's still not used to it - and partly it turns him on even more, to know that he can have this, that he can do this, to Spencer.

"Spence," Ryan complains, giving a little buck of his hips that threatens to unseat Jon entirely, and at least makes him slip down, trapping both their hands between their stomachs and Jon comes within an inch of knocking his chin hard on Ryan's collarbone, which could have really been a boner-kill, and certainly hurt even as it was.

"Ow, watch it," Jon says, and Ryan just rolls his eyes and calls him a wimp.

"But seriously," Ryan goes on, "Spencer, come on, you've done the great and powerful Oz thing long enough, I want you to finger me already."

"What am I?" Jon says, elbowing Ryan in the stomach entirely on purpose and not really caring. "Chopped liver?"

"Icing on the cake?" Spencer suggests, ameliorating, but he runs a hand along Jon's flank to take the sting out of it, and seems to have given in anyhow, because a second later Jon hears a thud and rustle that seems like it must match up to a pair of jeans hitting the floor, carelessly by the bed.

"Come on, Spencer," Ryan says, and he hooks an ankle around the back of Jon's calf, holding him in place.

"Ryan's not good at patience," Spencer stage-whispers, dragging his knuckles over Jon's hip, petting his belly. "He's all about the now. Not too bad in terms of stamina, though."

"You are such a dick," Ryan says, but his hands remain gentle against Jon's skin, and he reaches up to kiss Jon with a banked heat burning behind his eyes, need restrained.

"You love it," Spencer says, and then leans in to kiss Jon himself, stealing his mouth away from Ryan. Spencer's kissing style is firm, no-nonsense, and deeply sensual. He bites at Jon's lower lip, and it should be a cliche, but it feels so good, and Jon actually feels his dick twitch. Fuck, he'll be lucky if he can ever concentrate again, after this. Spencer's tongue darts into Jon's mouth, confident and easy, and he tastes cool and faintly salty.

With a sudden rush - of blood, not to his head - Jon realises just what exactly Spencer tastes like.

"You-" he says, and then has to clear his throat, deliberately slowing down so that his voice doesn't give anything away. "I take it you left Brendon in your room, then."

"Mmm," Spencer says, eyes dancing, and refuses to confirm. "He's... napping."

"Brendon lasts about five minutes before passing out," Ryan says, not as acidly as Jon would have expected. "It's why we usually only let him come last."

"Oh, and you're so much better," Spencer says, but his voice is definitely fond, and he elbows Jon aside quite matter-of-factly to lean down and seal his mouth to Ryan's, a lengthy, dirty kiss that speaks volumes for how long they've been doing this. There are years of experience in that kiss, and Jon wants. God, does he ever want.

"So, you were going to finger me?" Ryan tries charm, and lands more or less in the right vicinity.

"We could let Jon do it," Spencer says.

"You are so fucking lazy," Ryan says.

"Can't blame a man for delegating," Jon says, feeling like he should get in on this teasing, even if he's not quite sure yet exactly what's fair game, what's normal.

"Spencer does like to stage-manage," Ryan says, thoughtful.

"Ryan does like to be fingered," Spencer says, in exactly the same tone, and Jon can't help the snort of laughter.

"Okay, okay," he says, "I'm sold. How do you like it?"

"In my ass," Ryan says, and this time Jon slaps his hip, skin on skin making a sharp sound that echoes in the hotel room.

"Fine," Ryan says, completely uncowed. "Like this is good, if you can reach."

"Fuck you, I'm not that short," Jon says, slipping his hand further back between Ryan's legs, thumb dragging around the rim of his hole. "Also, I might not be Brendon, but I'm still pretty bendy."

"I can't wait to find out how bendy," Spencer says, and he's settling on his side to watch, now, eyes level with Jon and Ryan's, rubbing circles over Ryan's belly with his free hand, his head resting on the other. Spencer's knuckles are brushing Jon's dick occasionally, too, and it's entirely distracting. Probably it's a good thing Brendon isn't here right now, Jon needs to find his feet in all this over-stimulation, and he doesn't think that's going to be happening any time soon.

"I have done this before," Ryan says, and Jon takes him at his word, pushes one finger inside him without even bothering to wait for lube, because if Ryan's going to be a snotty dick, he can take the consequences.

"I knew I liked you," Spencer says with a smug grin as Ryan squawks and bears down on Jon's hand, mouth falling open in an uninhibited moan.

"Great," Jon says, trying to focus on how he's touching Ryan and not on Ryan's hand, sneakily making its way down south to either help or hinder, Jon's quite enthusiastic to find out which. "Want to make yourself useful and find some lube, then?"

"Ooh," Ryan says, "you'll pay for that one later."

"Trying to warn me that Spencer's toppy and doesn't like taking orders?" Jon says, and then gives in to temptation, leaning in to kiss Ryan again, lingering at his mouth, letting the kiss wash them back and forth in sensation until Ryan's body clenches around Jon's finger and he remembers that, oh right, he has another goal here, too.

"Spence?" Jon asks, and reaches out. Spencer passes him the lube, thankfully with no comment, and Jon warms a dollop in his hand before going back to work on Ryan.

Ryan is wonderfully responsive, squirming and moaning as Jon adds a second and then third finger. Ryan is gasping, his dick hard where it presses against Jon's thigh, and he babbles as he gets close to coming; promising Jon all manner of sexual favours in bribery, asking for more, harder, faster. Jon can feel his own arousal ratcheting up in response, and when Ryan bucks, comes all over them both, his body clenching tight around Jon's hands, Jon has to drop his head and bite Ryan's shoulder hard before he winds up doing the same.

Ryan jerks again at the shock of pain, and his heels dig into Jon's body, reaching, wanton.

"Fuck, that was hot," Spencer says, and he's faintly flushed, breathing too fast and clenching his hands in the bedsheets. "I wish we'd taped that, Jesus. Jon. Come here already."

Jon scrambles off Ryan, who sacks out flat on his back, panting, his eyes glazed as he comes down. He only has to slither over a few inches of mattress but he still lands heavily on Spencer, who wraps his arms around him, rolling onto his back with an "oof".

Jon suspects his eyes are probably too-wide, staring, but he's so wound up now, he's aching to get off and Spencer is right there, Spencer is underneath him, shifting and sweaty and warm, and he's virtually buzzing with need.

Jon ducks his head down and finds Spencer's mouth almost blindly, a hot kiss that runs liquid fire from his mouth along his spine and all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes. He shifts enough to press his leg between Spencer's, to give Spencer something to grind up against, and his own dick is nudging up against Spencer's hip, smearing precome over soft skin, as Jon can't keep himself still, has to ride against Spencer's body, barely constraining his desire.

"Jon, what do you, fuck, Jon," Spencer says, barely coherent himself, and Jon would be smug, but he's hitting a groove, he is so in the zone, and unless something changes in the next few minutes, he really is going to just rub off on Spencer until he comes. It's probably not particularly dignified, and it's certainly going to impress no one with his skills in bed, but fuck. This is one of the hottest things that Jon has ever done, and he's not made of stone, if they don't get moving soon then his body is going to seriously start calling the shots itself.

Spencer seems to be equally desperate, if the way he has a hand wrapped around the back of Jon's neck is any indication; holding his mouth down where it's clamped onto Spencer's collarbone. Jon licks over his skin, feeling the pulse jump under his mouth and tasting fresh sweat. Spencer moans when Jon bites down, scraping his teeth, and is only barely aware of Ryan's commentary from the other side of the bed, a hoarse laugh coupled with "oh, yeah, you've got his number all right."

Spencer's other hand is clamped firmly on Jon's ass, the fingers biting into the flesh of his backside, not even trying to go anywhere more adventurous, just a straight-out death grip. It's keeping their bodies tightly together, though, and Jon can't complain.

"Was there anything else you wanted to try right now?" Jon gasps, wiggling his hand between them to get a grip on Spencer's dick, to start jerking him off, because he doesn't care about coming like a fifteen year old his first time past third base, but he'd kind of like to get to touch Spencer, even if it does turn out to be just this one time. If the way that Spencer is riding his hand is any indication, though, he's probably going to get to do this again.

"Hell with it," Spencer says roughly, "this'll do. I'll blow you next time. Or I'll ask Brendon to do it. His mouth, Jon, you have no idea."

Jon has eyes and a good imagination and therefore is pretty sure that he can make a solid guess, at least. And Spencer's words have caught in his brain well and truly; his imagination -- apparently not satisfied with the reality of the fact he has Ryan Ross' come drying on his stomach, and a naked Spencer Smith underneath him, dick in hand and moments away from orgasm -- has decided to alternate between mental images of Brendon's soft, full lips wrapped around Jon's dick, and Spencer's mouth, those sharp teeth and sharper tongue a warning and a dare all at once, and that's what does it, what tips him over the edge, and Jon breathes in sharply before coming hard, a white splash over Spencer's hip and the side of the sheets.

"Fuck," Spencer says fervently, and he thrusts up into Jon's hand a few more times before coming himself, and Jon wipes his hand on the sheet -- seriously, it's not exactly like it can get any worse at this point -- and rolls off him. He's not the lightest guy, especially not in this band, and he doesn't want to, like, fuck up Spencer's breathing or something.

"Mmm, come back," Spencer says, "you're nice and warm. Also, soft." He gives Ryan a pointed look, but Ryan is still starfished out on the bed with his eyes half-lidded in what gives every appearance of a blissful repose.

"You're welcome to him," Ryan says, "I for one prefer to not get covered in sweaty boy."

"Sweat's not all he's covered in," Spencer says with a smug grin, and Jon has to interject, once again, "Hey, I'm right here."

"Yeah, and you should really go shower or something," Ryan says, "unless you like the idea of waking up covered in jizz."

Jon raises an eyebrow. "What if I do?"

"That's hot," Ryan says, deadpan, and completely unserious.

Spencer just gives him a considering look. "It actually is. Although I think you're more lazy than kinky."

Jon shrugs. "You tell me."

"Don't even front," Spencer says, running his fingers lazily along Jon's spine, an idle touch. "I have met you, Jon, you just don't want to get up."

"I just had sex with you both, for the first time," Jon says logically. "You'd think one of you could get up, in order to impress me and make sure I come back for more."

"Oh, no doubt there," Spencer says, and gives Jon a fierce, biting kiss. "You're not going anywhere else."

* * *

"Actually, you can definitely stick around," Spencer says muzzily, several hours later. "I don't know anyone else who'll sleep in the wet spot without complaining." 

"Spence, the whole bed is kind of the wet spot," Jon replies, without bothering to open his eyes. He'd been in the middle of a really nice dream. There had been ice cream. Probably that was symbolic, and it wouldn't even take much of a leap to figure out what for, but he'd just had sex with Ryan and Spencer, and he was going to ride the afterglow as long as humanly fucking possible, thanks.

"Yeah," Spencer says, sounding pissy. It's delightfully familiar. "And it's really annoying; we have to remember to only do this on nights we get two beds. Then we can sleep in the other one."

"Good plan," Ryan says, "thanks for sharing. You remember - the other week, yeah? Didn't exactly work out so well in practice, did it? Also, why are you awake?"

Jon cracks one eye long enough to get a glimpse of messy fair hair - Spencer sharing his pillow - and then rolls over to look at Ryan. Ryan is spreadeagled over a good half of the bed, still, and is hogging the covers. Jon is curiously unshocked by this, but then, he's roomed with Ryan before, and Ryan is one of those guys who winds up diagonally on a double bed, wrapped up like a burrito. Jon used to tease him about it. Now he suspects he'll be more interested in unwrapping him, and the hell with bus call.

"Let me guess," Jon says, his voice scratchy from lack of sleep. "You moved beds and then got all giggly and grabby and messed up the other one as well?"

"Your way sounds suspiciously as if we were having some kind of teenage slumber party," Spencer says after a second, "but that was basically the outcome, yeah."

"I'm shocked," Jon says, not shocked in the slightest. Especially given they've been awake for all of five minutes - that he knows of, at least - and Spencer's hand is already on his thigh again, and moving upwards. Spencer's hand has a plan, and Jon is going to sign up any minute now. 

"Ry, you awake?" He asks, pitching his voice low just in case.

"No," Ryan says grouchily, and shoves his head under the pillow.

"That's a shame," Jon says. "Because I'm pretty sure Spencer said something earlier about blowing me and I figured you'd want to watch, so- wow, did you strain something there?"

Ryan gave him a dour look. "I'm fine. Why doesn't Spencer have his mouth on your dick? False advertising."

Jon shrugs, and parts his thighs so that Spencer can slip his hand back to play with his balls first, suppressing a shudder at the light, teasing touch.

"Did I say he was blowing me right now? Nope. Jeez, how'd you do on your SATs again, Ryan? Because I think your reading comprehension could use some work."

"You're such a dick," Ryan grumbles. "I was asleep. We have to be up, like, soon. And I didn't hear about anyone blowing me, so I'm not sure why I was interested, actually."

Spencer rolls on top of Jon then, throwing one leg over his hip and shimmying down, which does some nice things for comparative anatomy. The blanket tangles and slips down his back, and then Spencer sits up, his weight firmly on Jon's thighs, and the blanket falls away behind them, forgotten.

Jon's eyes are pretty much fixed on Spencer. His chest is smooth, pale, with a few freckles scattered over his shoulders. If they got more sun he's sure they'd spread lower, too. Spencer isn't all that hairy, but he's got more body hair than Jon, at least, and Jon's gaze is caught by the thin line of dark hair that starts by his navel and runs directly down to his dick. Jon bites his lip and stares blatantly. It's early morning and they'd spent the evening having sex, small wonder that all three of them are sporting wood right now. Jon's still dwelling on Spencer's promise from the night before, wondering if he's going to follow through - which would be amazing, obviously Jon hasn't gotten a blow job from Spencer before, but it seems safe to assume that - having been fucking Ryan and Brendon for probably years now - he's probably pretty good at it. Jon really, really wants to find out. 

"Maybe I should go brush my teeth first," Spencer says. It's clearly a dig of some kind; Jon knows what an in-joke sounds like when he hears one in the wild, and the indignant noise Ryan makes in response pretty much confirms it.

"Spencer," he whines, because seriously, come on. 

"Sure, sure," Spencer says, "Hold your horses." 

Jon wants to tell him no one under eighty actually says that anymore either, but then Spencer is shuffling back on the bed, lining himself up before his mouth is sliding down over the head of his dick, slipping smooth and hot and easy over Jon's cock.

His words dissolve into a stumbling moan, then, and it only gets better when he can feel Spencer's dick hard against his thigh, rubbing off on Jon even as his tongue and hands work him over, and Ryan has dropped his disinterested pose to curl closer, pressed against Jon's side, gaze shifting hotly from Spencer's mouth to Jon's. Jon has to admit he's much more into being watched than he'd ever realized, because that is absolutely getting him hotter.

"Ry," he manages to say, and Spencer pulls off his dick to raise one perfect eyebrow at him. 

"Seriously?" Spencer says, and Jon swallows hard, mouth dry, because fuck, Spencer's mouth is bruised and so red, and every time he thinks he couldn't possibly get more turned on, well. 

"I might die from how hot this is," Jon says, entirely too honestly, and without being able to take his eyes off Spencer now he's looking at him. 

"That's better," Spencer says, and he goes right back down. Jesus, Jon really might, or there's every chance he's going to forget how to breathe and pass out embarrassingly, at least. 

"Focus," Ryan says, right beside Jon's ear, and he turns his face to him, which is what Ryan was counting on, it seems, because it turns out the only thing hotter than having Spencer suck his dick is having that happen while Ryan's kissing him.

Jon doesn't quite come in under two minutes, but it's pretty close, all the same.

"Yeah, this works," Spencer says, a little while later, and plasters himself along Jon's other, Ryan-less side. "Let's nap for a bit and then go get Brendon."

"Can we get breakfast, too?" Jon asks, because, on the one hand: Brendon. But on the other: waffles.

"You're only having maple syrup on one of those things," Ryan says, kind of reading Jon's mind again, and okay, yeah. 

He really thinks this is gonna work out.

**Author's Note:**

> And then they ALL LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER having hilarious and/or adorable four-person sexytimes, dammit! /AU


End file.
